855 


ARTHUR 

IN  SHADOW  &  SUNSHINE 


, 


ARTHUR 

IN  SHADOW  AND 

SUNSHINE 

BY 
KATE     COPE    WEBB 


ILLUSTRATIONS     AND     DECORATION 
BY 

WILL     WHITE 


SAN     FRANCISCO 

RICARDO     J.     OROZCO 

M    C    M    X    I    I 


COPYRIGHT.   1912.  BY 

RICARDO  J.   OROZCO 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


Bancroft  Lfcmy 


To  my  Grandaughter 

MARTHA  STERLING  WEBB 
O 
o> 


o 

D 


O 
O 

oc 
O 

-J 

f. 


ARTHUR    IN    SHADOW 
AND   SUNSHINE 

CHAPTER  I 

"Oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  could  go  some 
place.  Frank  says  I  am  an  awful  baby 
to  never  go  outside  our  grounds.  Papa 
and  mama  won't  let  me  without  old 
Betty  or  somebody  tags  along.  Frank 
says  if  he  was  me,  he'd  just  go  every- 
where, and  see  lots  of  things.  I'll  never 
be  a  man  at  all  if  I  stay  here  all  the 
time,  Frank  says." 

Arthur  so  longed  for  companionship 
that  he  finally  decided  to  venture  along 
the  road  a  short  distance  by  himself.  He 
had  been  trying  to  play  circus  alone,  and 
had  on  a  little  spangled  jacket  and  cap 
that  his  sister,  Lillian,  had  made  for 
him.  Being  afraid  that  he  might  meet 
some  one  who  would  recognize  him  and 
laugh  at  his  costume,  he  ran  back  to 
change  them;  he  removed  his  cap,  re- 
placing it  with  one  of  fur,  but  kept  on 
his  spangled  jacket,  slipping  over  it  a 
coarse  coat  that  had  been  given  him  by 
the  gardener's  wife.  These  garments  were 
much  too  large  for  him,  but  by  turn- 
ing up  the  sleeves  of  the  coat,  and  but- 


toning  it  well  over  his  chest,  his  toilet 
was  completed  to  his  satisfaction.  He 
certainly  looked  very  much  like  a  poor 
little  tramp  in  his  cast-off  clothing. 
There  was  little  fear  of  being  recog- 
nized, especially  as  he  drew  his  cap  well 
down  over  his  eyes. 

As  he  started  off  up  the  road,  he 
decided  to  play,  as  he  often  did  with 
Frank,  that  he  was  a  circus  boy,  without 
father  or  mother  or  any  one  belonging 
to  him.  He  played  that  he  had  been 
stolen  by  a  circus  man,  who  treated  him 
very  cruelly,  and  he  was  now  running 
away.  He  called  himself  "Charley  May- 
lard,"  the  name  of  a  minstrel  he  had 
lately  seen  and  greatly  admired. 

Arthur  strolled  along  the  road  for 
some  distance,  at  last  coming  to  a  point 
from  which  he  could  see  the  railroad 
depot,  a  place  always  full  of  interest  to 
him.  He  concluded  to  go  on  far  enough 
to  watch  the  cars  as  they  passed. 

A  train  came  puffing  up  just  as  he 
reached  the  platform.  It  suddenly  oc- 
cured  to  Arthur  that  it  would  be  a  fine 
thing  to  go  to  the  city  and  meet  his  papa. 
He  knew  where  his  father's  office  was, 
and  hoped  he  would  call  him  a  real 
brave  boy  to  have  come  all  the  way  by 
himself. 


= 


Without  further  consideration  he 
jumped  on  board.  Almost  immediately 
the  train  was  in  motion.  There  were 
plenty  of  seats  to  be  had.  He  slipped 
into  one  near  the  door.  He  began  to  feel 
frightened,  and  would  gladly  have  re- 
turned home  had  it  been  possible. 

Remembering  that  Frank  would  cer- 
tainly have  called  him  a  coward,  he  tried 
to  dismiss  his  fears.  He  continued  his 
play  of  being  "Charley  Maylard,"  a 
circus  boy,  who  was  making  his  escape 
from  a  cruel  master. 

A  boy  came  through  the  car  with  a 
basket  on  his  arm,  selling  candy,  or- 
anges, nuts  and  other  edibles.  Arthur 
eyed  them  wistfully.  His  mother  fre- 
quently had  bought  things  for  him  from 
this  very  boy.  "Oh  how  good  that  candy 
would  taste!"  He  had  no  money  with 
him,  but  he  knew  the  boy  would  be  re- 
turning through  the  car  very  soon,  and 
wondered  if  he  had  not  something  with 
which  he  could  make  a  trade  for  some 
candy.  He  spread  out  before  him  on 
the  seat  all  his  precious  possessions.  It 
was  hard  to  decide  what  would  be  a  fair 
exchange;  there  was  the  big  jack-knife, 
a  most  marvelous  affair.  It  had  a  cork- 
screw, a  nut-picker  and  other  queer  con- 
trivances, none  of  them  very  good  for 


use.  But  it  was  the  pride  of  Arthur's 
heart  and  for  it  he  had  traded  to  Frank 
three  tops,  a  two-dollar  pearl-handled 
knife  and  fifty  cents  to  boot.  Not  even 
for  the  much-wished-for  candy  could  he 
part  with  this  treasure. 

He  turned  his  attention  to  the  other 
articles — tops,  marbles — six  pure  agates ; 
a  round  tin  with  holes  in  it;  a  piece  of 
comb;  pencils,  without  points;  chalk — 
red,  blue,  green  and  white;  some  shells; 
a  piece  of  smoked  glass;  a  burning-glass 
and  a  small  mirror;  even  more  articles. 
Arthur  could  not  decide  with  which  of 
these  to  part.  The  boy  passed  and  op- 
portunity was  gone. 

The  train  moved  along  rapidly  and, 
after  stopping  at  several  stations,  reached 
its  destination.  As  Arthur  stood  on  the 
platform,  looking  about  him,  he  did  not 
feel  quite  so  certain  that  he  could  find 
his  father's  office.  He  went  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  street,  and  saw  people  hurry- 
ing by — wagons,  street  cars  and  vehicles 
of  all  kinds  going  in  all  directions.  He 
felt  bewildered,  and  wished  that  he  had 
stayed  at  home. 

He  knew  that  his  father's  office  was 
on  California  Street,  near  Montgomery. 
But  where  was  California  Street*? 
Where,  Montgomery^ 


8 


He  thought  he  might  venture  to  ask 
information  of  a  man  who  stood  near: 
"Mister,  please  tell  me  where  Mont- 
gomery is*?" 

The  man  was  a  rough-looking  fellow, 
but  answered  civilly  enough  : 

"Montgomery  Street,  youngster?  It's 
no  whar's  near  here." 

"But  I  must  go  there,"  said  Arthur. 
"I  want  to  find  my  father's  office." 

"Your  father's  office,  eh?"  The  man 
laughed.  "I  guess  he's  more  like  to 
sweep  out  somebody  else's  office.  You're 
a  pretty-looking  kid  to  have  a  father 
with  a  office."  He  took  the  child  rough- 
ly by  the  chin. 

The  boy  shook  himself  free,  saying 
proudly : 

"My  father  would  not  sweep  out  any- 
body's office.  He  is  Mr.  Eldridge." 

"Say  that  agin,  youngster,"  said  the 
man  sharply,  stepping  a  little  nearer. 

"My  father  is  Mr.  Eldridge.  He  lives 
in  San  Mateo."  The  man  stared  at  him 
for  a  moment. 

"So  you're  Mr.  Eldridge's  son,  of  San 
Mateo,  eh?  Well,  I  happen  to  know 
somethin'  o'  that  family.  They  must  'a 
come  down  a  peg  or  two  when  they'd  let 
their  son  go  dressed  like  this."  He 
touched  Arthur's  rough  coat. 


He  remarked 

that  he 

never  had  seen 
any  of  these 
streets  before 


"Oh,"  laughed  Arthur,  "these  are  not 
my  clothes." 

He  explained  how  it  was  that  he  was 
dressed  in  that  manner,  throwing  open 
his  coat  to  let  him  have  a  peep  at  the 
spangled  jacket  beneath.  The  man  lifted 
the  boy's  cap,  looking  well  at  his  face. 
Replacing  it,  he  muttered:  "I  hain't  seen 
the  little  chap  for  nigh  two  year,  but  I 
declar'  I  think  it's  him.  What  luck!" 

"All  right,  little  feller,"  he  said 
aloud,  "I  know  yer  father.  We'll  go 
find  him.  P'raps  he'll  give  me  a  quarter 
fer  bringin'  yer." 

"Oh,  yes,"  cried  Arthur  eagerly,  "I 
know  he  will." 

The  man  made  an  effort  to  be  pleasant 
to  the  boy  as  they  passed  through  the 
streets.  Arthur  was  greatly  interested 
in  all  he  saw,  chatting  away  happily 
and  freely.  At  last  he  began  to  grow 
very  tired  and  hungry.  He  remarked 
that  he  never  had  seen  any  of  these 
streets  before,  and  that  it  seemed  a  long 
way  to  his  father's  office.  The  man 
laughed,  but  did  not  stop  until  they 
reached  a  dirty  street  near  the  bay. 

He  paused  at  a  large,  dingy-looking 
house,  remarking  that  he  must  go  in  there 
for  a  moment,  as  he  wished  to  speak  to  a 
friend.  The  boy  would  have  greatly 


11 


preferred  not  going  into  this  miserable- 
looking  building,  but  was  afraid  to  re- 
fuse to  do  so.  There  was  something  in 
the  man's  manner  that  rather  frightened 
him. 

They  went  up  several  flights  of  stairs. 
Inside,  as  out,  the  house  presented  a 
wretched  appearance,  seeming  to  be  a 
kind  of  low  lodging-house.  Arthur  saw 
a  number  of  people  passing  up  and  down 
the  stairway.  He  did  not  like  their 
looks,  but  somehow  felt  glad  that  he  was 
not  altogether  alone  with  this  man. 

By  this  time  Arthur  began  to  realize 
that  he  had  done  very  wrong  in  coming 
away  from  his  home  at  all.  He  was  so 
tired  and  hungry  that  he  scarcely  could 
keep  the  tears  back. 

They  went  to  the  very  top  of  the 
house,  stopping  before  a  door  near  the 
stairway.  The  man  unlocked  the  door, 
leading  the  boy  into  a  large,  poorly  fur- 
nished room ;  on  a  table  were  the  remains 
of  a  meal.  Arthur  felt  so  very  hungry 
that  he  thought  he  could  eat  even  that 
coarse  food.  He  was  thirsty,  too ;  seeing 
a  pitcher  on  the  table,  he  said  timidly, 
"May  I  have  a  drink,  please?" 

"Certain,  my  young  gent,"  pouring 
out  a  cupful.  Arthur  took  it,  but  the 
smell  was  enough.  He  could  not  bring 


12 


himself  to  taste  the  muddy-looking  mix- 
ture. 

"This  isn't  water.  It's  beer,  isn't  it"? 
Please  let  me  have  some  water." 

"Certain,  you  can  have  it.  Mighty 
poor  taste  in  my  opinion." 

The  man  laughed,  took  the  cup,  tossed 
the  beer  into  the  pitcher  again  and  going 
to  the  side  of  the  room  drew  some  water. 
Arthur  drank  it,  although  it  was  strongly 
flavored  with  beer. 

"If  yer  hungry,  thar's  some  bread  and 
meat,"  the  man  said,  pointing  to  the 
table.  The  boy  did  not  feel  hungry 
now;  the  food  would  have  choked  him 
if  he  had  attempted  to  swallow  it. 

"Won't  you  please  take  me  to  my 
father4?"  he  asked.  The  man  answered 
with  a  grin  that  terrified  him : 

"Guess  I'll  wait  awhile.  I'm  tired," 
he  said,  throwing  himself  at  full  length 
on  the  bed,  pretending  to  go  to  sleep. 

Arthur  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed; 
the  tears  kept  coming  into  his  eyes,  feel- 
ing that  not  much  longer  could  he  restrain 
them.  He  wondered  what  they  were 
doing  at  home,  and  if  they  had  missed 
him.  If  the  man  would  only  awaken 
and  take  him  to  his  father's  office,  he 
knew  his  papa  would  give  him  more 
than  a  quarter.  Just  then  the  man 


13 


Before  he  could  escape 

a  heavy  hand 
was  laid  upon  him 


moved  slightly.  Arthur  ran  to  him,  the 
tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks: 

"Oh,  please,  please  won't  you  take 
me  to  my  papa*?  I  can't  stay  here  any 
longer.  They'll  think  I'm  lost.  Won't 
you  take  me4?" 

The  man  caught  the  boy  roughly  by 
the  arm,  frightening  him  so  that  he 
stopped  crying. 

"Now  you !  Don't  you  go  makin'  such 
a  racket,  or  I'll  give  you  somethin'  to 
stop  it  mighty  quick." 

Arthur  was  still  for  a  moment. 
Speaking  more  quietly,  trying  to  sup- 
press his  sobs,  he  said : 

"When  will  you  take  me  away  from 
here?  My  father'll  give  you  just  lots 
of  money.  I  know  he  will.  I  won't  tell 
you  frightened  me.  Ton  honor,  I 
won't." 

"Yer're  right,  small  chap.  I  think 
yer  father'll  give  me  some  money,  and 
I  mean  it  to  be  a  big  lot." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  he  will.  Now  do 
let  us  go." 

The  man  lay  down  again,  saying: 

"Not  just  yet,  young  shaver." 

Arthur  knew  by  the  tone  of  his  voice 
that  there  was  no  use  urging  him  any 
more.  He  tried  so  hard  to  be  brave,  but 
now  was  almost  frantic.  He  was  cry- 


15 


ing  bitterly,  although  managing  not  to 
make  a  great  deal  of  noise. 

It  was  getting  dark  in  the  room;  Ar- 
thur heard  a  key  grate  in  the  door;  it 
opened,  and  a  low,  heavy-set  man  came 
in.  Seeing  the  door  open  and  hoping 
that  his  cruel  jailer  was  asleep,  he  made 
a  spring,  reaching  the  landing.  Before 
he  could  escape,  a  heavy  hand  was  laid 
upon  him,  and  he  was  quickly  jerked 
back  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER    II 

"None  o'  that.  You  young  scamp!" 
striking  the  child  a  cruel  blow. 

Arthur  was  in  despair.  He  threw 
himself  against  the  door,  kicking,  pound- 
ing it,  and  screaming  with  all  his 
strength.  He  was  quickly  pulled  away, 
the  new  man  helping,  although  not  in 
the  least  comprehending  why  the  boy 
was  there.  One  of  them  put  his  hand 
over  his  mouth,  while  the  other  lit  a 
candle. 

"Here  you,  Jim,  get  me  a  rope.  I'll 
soon  fix  him."  He  threw  him  on  a  cot, 
and  securely  bound  him  to  it.  He  re- 
sisted with  all  his  strength  —  kicked, 
scratched,  and,  getting  an  opportunity, 
bit  the  man's  hand.  His  struggles  were 


16 


of  no  avail.  Soon  he  lay  still,  bound, 
almost  unable  to  breathe  because  of  the 
bandage  tied  over  his  mouth. 

"Why  don't  yer  give  him  some  o'  that 
black  stuff?  That'd  keep  him  quiet 
enough." 

Jim  told  the  man,  whom  he  called 
Nat,  to  bring  the  bottle.  He  poured 
some  of  this  dark-looking  liquid  into  a 
teaspoon,  seeming  rather  particular  as  to 
the  quantity.  This  they  forced  Arthur 
to  swallow,  he  being  so  very  wretched 
that  he  scarcely  knew  what  they  were 
doing  with  him. 

"Guess  that'll  fix  him  all  right. 
Spunky  little  rat,  isn't  he?" 

It  was  not  long  before  the  drug  began 
to  take  effect,  and  Arthur  sank  into  a 
heavy  sleep. 

Jim  told  Nat  that  Arthur's  father 
was  a  very  rich  man.  He  hoped  to  make 
a  large  sum  of  money  by  concealing  his 
son.  At  one  time  he  had  worked  on 
his  father's  place,  often  had  seen  the 
child. 

On  the  day  of  Arthur's  disappearance 
his  mother  and  sisters,  Lillian  and  Em- 
ma, had  gone  to  San  Francisco  for  the 
day,  he  being  left  in  charge  of  Betty, 
his  former  nurse.  He  considered  him- 
self much  too  old  for  a  nurse's  care,  but 


17 


he  was  her  particular  charge,  she  being 
most  devoted  to  him. 

The  afternoon  of  his  leaving  home, 
Betty  saw  him  playing  around  the 
grounds.  After  awhile,  not  seeing  or 
hearing  him,  she  went  to  find  him,  but 
not  doing  so  readily,  she  inquired  of  the 
other  servants.  Soon  she  became  very 
much  alarmed.  The  place  was  searched 
thoroughly.  They  went  up  the  road  he 
had  traveled  such  a  short  time  before, 
and  made  inquiries  at  the  depot,  but  no 
one  could  be  found  who  had  seen  him 
that  day. 

Mr.  Eldridge,  his  wife  and  daughters, 
alighted  from  the  train,  laughing  and 
chatting  together.  Betty  was  there, 
scarcely  able  to  drag  herself  forward  to 
tell  what  she  must. 

Emma's  sharp  eyes  saw  her  first. 
"Why,  mama,  there's  Betty!  Where's 
Arthur'?" 

Mrs.  Eldridge,  on  catching  a  glimpse 
of  Betty's  face,  knew  that  something 
was  very  wrong. 

"Betty!"  she  exclaimed.  "Arthur! 
Is  anything  wrong  with  Arthur*?" 

Betty  burst  into  tears:  "O  ma'am,  O 

ma'am !    We  just  can't  find  him  at  all." 

Mr.  Eldridge,  to  whom  the  chauffeur 

18 


=  C 


had  been  speaking,  stepped  to  Betty's 
side,  greatly  excited. 

"What  is  this  John  tells  me,  Betty?" 
he  asked  sharply.  "You  are  responsible 
for  Arthur.  When  did  you  see  him 
last?' 

"Indeed,  indeed,  sir,  I  never  left  him 
out  of  my  sight  but  a  short  while.  You 
know,  ma'am,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Eld- 
ridge,  "how  he  hates  to  be  watched. 
Says  as  how  he's  too  big  for  a  nurse  - 
me,  that  loves  him  so !" 

"Never  mind  that  now,"  said  Mr. 
Eldridge.  "Tell  me  when  you  last  saw 
him?  Do  not  be  so  frightened,"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  wife  and  trying  to  re- 
assure her.  "He  is  surely  somewhere 
on  the  place.  Stop  your  crying,  Betty, 
and  tell  at  once  where  and  when  you  last 
saw  Arthur?" 

Betty  told  all  that  had  been  done  to 
find  the  missing  boy.  The  poor  mother 
could  scarcely  stand,  as  she  listened. 
Mr.  Eldridge,  looking  grave  and  much 
troubled,  put  his  wife,  the  two  little 
girls  and  Betty  into  the  machine.  They 
were  to  go  home,  while  he  remained  long 
enough  to  send  a  message  to  the  police 
in  San  Francisco,  so  that  time  might  not 
be  lost  if  Arthur  should  have  wandered 
so  far. 


19 


The  house  and  entire  premises  were 
searched  again  and  again.  Messengers 
were  sent  in  every  direction,  and  person 
after  person  interviewed  for  miles 
around.  The  poor  mother  shed  not  a 
tear,  but  set  herself  steadfastly  to  find 
her  boy.  She  went  to  the  neighbors' 
houses,  questioning  their  children  with 
whom  Arthur  sometimes  played. 

It  was  all  in  vain.  There  crept  into 
the  mother's  face  a  hopeless  look,  as  she 
passed  from  place  to  place,  calling,  at 
first  aloud,  then  in  a  whisper:  "Arthur! 
Arthur!" 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  Mr.  Eld- 
ridge  started  to  San  Francisco  to  hasten 
the  search  that  was  already  being  made 
there.  Mrs.  Eldridge  remained  at  home, 
feeling  that  her  boy  must  be  found 
here  where  she  had  seen  him  last. 


CHAPTER  III 

When  Arthur  awoke  from  his  deep 
sleep  it  was  broad  daylight.  At  first 
he  could  remember  nothing  of  what  had 
happened  to  him.  After  awhile  it  all 
seemed  more  like  a  dream  than  reality. 
He  felt  very  wretched,  his  head  so 
heavy,  his  face  burning  hot.  He  wanted 
a  drink  of  water,  but  there  seemed  to 


20 


be  no  one  in  the  room  to  get  it  for  him. 
He  thought  of  his  mother,  wishing  she 
were  here;  even  old  Betty,  whom  he 
often  deemed  a  nuisance.  He  wondered 
in  a  vague  way  what  they  all  were  do- 
ing at  home.  Why  did  not  his  papa 
come  and  find  him?  He  tried  to  rise 
from  the  cot,  but  found  himself  still 
bound  down. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  man,  Nat, 
came  in,  carrying  a  small  pitcher.  Put- 
ting it  down,  he  went  at  once  to  Arthur. 
He  examined  him  carefully,  muttering 
to  himself:  "Guess  the  kid  won't  give 
much  more  trouble  now." 

Arthur  opened  his  eyes.  He  had 
fallen  into  a  kind  of  stupor.  On  seeing 
the  man,  he  said  faintly:  "Water,  please 
some  water." 

Nat  untied  the  rope,  remarking  he 
guessed  they  might  get  along  without 
that.  He  gave  Arthur  a  drink.  Nat 
seemed  somewhat  alarmed  at  his  condi- 
tion and  lifted  him,  changing  his  posi- 
tion. In  a  clumsy  manner,  he  tried  to 
make  him  more  comfortable.  The  boy 
lay  like  a  log,  taking  no  notice  of  his 
surroundings. 

The  man  poured  some  milk  from  the 
pitcher,  putting  it  to  Arthur's  lips.  He 
drank  some  and  it  seemed  to  do  him 


21 


good.  Very  soon  he  sank  into  a  more 
natural  sleep. 

When  next  Arthur  awoke  it  was  again 
night.  There  was  a  candle  burning  on 
the  table.  The  two  men  sat  talking 
very  earnestly.  Arthur  knew  they  were 
talking  of  him.  Heard  them  say  some- 
thing about  money;  that  they  must  get 
him  away  that  very  night.  They  spoke 
of  the  police  hunting  everywhere,  al- 
though Arthur  could  not  comprehend 
what  for.  All  this  time  Nat  and  Jim 
were  drinking  freely. 

Now  it  was  a  very  strange  thing,  but 
the  boy  did  not  seem  to  know  that  he 
was  Arthur  Eldridge.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  recollection  of  his  home,  par- 
ents, or  of  anything  connected  with  his 
past  life.  He  now  believed  himself  to 
be  "Charley  Maylard,"  the  circus  boy, 
the  game  he  had  played  on  the  train.  He 
thought  his  father  and  mother  were 
dead,  and  that  he  had  been  taken  by  a 
cruel  circus  man.  Now  he  was  trying 
to  run  away. 

The  men  were  busily  talking.  Ar- 
thur, seeing  the  key  in  the  door,  hoped 
he  might  escape  without  being  seen.  The 
fever*  in  his  veins  gave  him  strength  for 
the  time  being.  Fortune  favored  him. 
The  men  soon  fell  to  quarreling.  One 


22 


struck  the  other,  whereupon  he  threw 
the  contents  of  his  cup  in  his  opponent's 
face,  the  liquor  flying  over  the  table, 
extinguishing  the  candle. 

In  a  moment  Arthur  was  up,  had 
reached  the  door — and  was  gone !  The 
stairs  were  directly  in  front  of  him. 
Running  down  rapidly,  but  noiselessly, 
he  was  out  in  the  street. 

It  was  very  dark,  but  he  feared  noth- 
ing just  then  but  being  recaptured  by 
his  dreaded  persecutors.  He  ran  as  fast 
as  he  could.  After  going  what  seemed 
to  him  a  very  long  distance,  he  came  to 
a  wharf. 

The  poor  little  forlorn,  sick  child,  for 
he  was  indeed  very  ill,  crouched  behind 
a  big  pile  of  lumber.  He  must  have  re- 
mained there  several  hours,  sleeping 
some,  but  most  of  the  time  straining 
every  nerve  in  fear  of  those  men. 

Toward  morning,  from  exhaustion, 
he  slept  more  soundly.  Upon  awaken- 
ing, he  found  the  sun  had  risen,  and  was 
shining  full  upon  him.  He  was  quite 
hidden  from  observation  by  the  lumber, 
but  could  hear  the  rumbling  of  vehicles, 
and  the  voices  of  many  people  passing 
near.  At  first  he  was  too  timid  to  move, 
but  finally  found  courage  to  peep  from 
his  hiding-place. 


23 


He  saw  a  wharf,  extending  far  out 
into  the  water.  A  large  steamer  was 
lying  close  by.  The  wagons  he  had 
heard  were  carrying  freight  to  her.  He 
could  see  the  people  bustling  about, 
making  preparations  for  their  voyage. 

It  was  an  Australian  steamer.  In  half 
an  hour  it  was  to  leave  the  dock.  Cer- 
tainly Arthur  knew  nothing  of  her 
destination,  but  wished  himself  on 
board  that  he  might  be  out  of  danger. 
Final  ly  he  summoned  courage  to  follow 
some  of  the  passengers,  as  they  passed 
on  to  the  steamer.  No  one  stopped  him. 
Soon  he  stood  on  deck  of  the  good  ship 
Alger.  A  little  later  she  started  on  her 
long  voyage,  bearing  with  her  our  little 
hero. 

CHAPTER  IV 

Arthur  was  very  weary,  and  sank  into 
the  nearest  seat.  Many  people  were  on 
deck,  but  so  busily  engaged  with  their 
own  affairs  that  none  for  a  time  noticed 
the  condition  of  the  boy.  Presently  a 
lady  and  gentleman  were  walking  up 
and  down  the  deck.  The  lady  was  quick 
to  notice  distress  of  any  kind,  and  had 
several  times  glanced  curiously  at  Ar- 
thur. 

"I  wish  you  would  speak  to  that  child, 


24 


dear,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "I  think 
he  must  be  sick  or  something;  just  look 
how  he  hangs  his  head." 

The  gentleman  raised  Arthur's  droop- 
ing head.  Arthur  was  frightened  at  be- 
ing addressed  by  any  one.  Sick  as  he 
was,  he  attempted  to  rise  and  move 
away.  But  this  time  he  was  so  very 
weak  that  he  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  move.  He  looked  appeal ingly  at  the 
lady  and  gentleman,  and  began  to  cry. 

Mrs.  Henderson  sat  down  beside  him. 
Putting  her  arms  around  the  child,  she 
tried  to  soothe  him.  When  he  grew 
more  quiet,  Mr.  Henderson  asked  him: 

"My  little  man,  to  whom  do  you  be- 
long? Where  are  your  friends'?  I  will 
find  them  for  you,"  thinking,  of  course, 
they  must  be  on  the  steamer. 

Arthur,  with  many  sobs,  said  he  had 
no  friends,  repeating  the  story  he  still 
believed  to  be  the  true  one:  his  parents 
were  dead,  his  name  was  Charley  May- 
lard,  he  had  been  taken  by  a  circus  man, 
cruelly  treated,  and  had  run  away.  The 
pitiful  tale  ended,  he  begged  them  not 
to  let  those  men  find  him  again. 

They  fully  believed  this  story,  and 
only  asked  themselves  what  was  now  best 
to  be  done.  They  saw  that  he  was  very 
ill,  as  he  almost  immediately  sank  again 


25 


^ 


into  the  stupor  from  which  they  had 
aroused  him.  Mr.  Henderson,  telling 
his  wife  to  remain  with  the  boy,  went 
at  once  to  consult  the  officers  of  the 
steamer.  He  soon  returned  with  the 
captain,  to  whom  they  repeated  the 
story.  The  captain  said  it  was  a  pitiful 
tale,  but  he  could  not  say  how  far  it 
was  true.  The  boy  might  be  a  little 
thief,  trying  to  escape  from  the  police. 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Henderson, 
"that  what  he  tells  of  himself  is  true. 
Just  look  at  his  innocent,  pretty  face. 
You  did  not  see  his  eyes,  or  I  am  satis- 
fied you  would  never  think  evil  of  the 
poor  child.  He  now  is  certainly  in  need 
of  most  tender  care.  If  you  will  assign 
to  us  a  stateroom  for  him  -  — ,"  here 
she  glanced  at  her  husband  for  approval. 

"We  will  hold  ourselves  responsible 
for  all  expenses  incurred,"  added  Mr. 
Henderson. 

The  boy  was  soon  undressed,  bathed, 
and  placed  in  a  comfortable  berth.  He 
was  found  to  be  in  a  high  fever.  Very 
soon  he  became  delirious,  raving  con- 
stantly of  those  men.  The  doctor  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  he  was  suffering 
from  a  terrible  fright,  and  surmised 
some  strong  narcotic  had  been  adminis- 
tered. 


26 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henderson  undertook 
the  entire  care  of  the  boy,  Mrs.  Hender- 
son and  her  maid,  Hannah,  nursing  him 
by  night  and  day.  Hannah  had  un- 
dressed Arthur,  and  when  she  was  alone 
with  her  mistress,  she  said: 

"Didn't  you  say,  ma'am,  how  as  he 
said  he  was  a  circus  boy*?  I  think  as  it's 
true  then.  Just  look  'ee  here.  It's  sure- 
ly a  circus  jacket." 

She  held  up  for  Mrs.  Henderson's  in- 
spection the  little  spangled  jacket  that 
Lillian  had  made  for  her  brother.  It 
had  been  worn  by  him  under  his  rough 
coat.  Mrs.  Henderson  took  it  to  her 
husband,  and  both  believed  this  was 
indeed  proof  of  the  boy's  statement. 

After  many  days  and  nights  of  suffer- 
ing and  weariness,  Arthur  was  pro- 
nounced out  of  danger,  his  strength  re- 
turning slowly.  At  last  the  physician 
thought  it  quite  safe  for  him  to  be  car- 
ried out  on  deck.  This  was  a  great 
event;  Mr.  Henderson  would  allow  no 
one  but  himself  to  carry  the  little 
invalid. 

The  child  indeed  made  a  pretty  pic- 
ture, as  he  lay  in  the  hammock  that  had 
been  swung  for  him.  His  hair  had 
grown  long,  was  wavy  and  of  a  golden 
color;  his  skin  was  soft,  like  a  baby's; 


27 


in  his  cheeks  was  a  faint,  delicate  glow. 
His  large  brown  eyes  gazed  at  one  with 
a  gentle,  wistful  expression,  that  never 
had  been  seen  in  the  eyes  of  Arthur 
Eldridge. 

Hannah  made  the  "pretty  dear,"  as 
she  called  him,  some  clothing  out  of  such 
things  as  Mrs.  Henderson  happened  to 
have  with  her.  A  favorite  velvet  cloak 
was  sacrificed  for  this  purpose.  The  boy 
certainly  looked  a  little  prince  in  this 
costume,  with  its  wide  collar  and  cuffs 
of  rich  lace.  Had  Arthur  been  himself, 
he  would  most  certainly  have  disdained 
this  "frumpery,"  with  which  he  was 
adorned;  probably  have  declared  it  only 
fit  for  girls.  For  several  months  it  had 
been  his  ambition  to  wear  long  pants 
and  stand-up  collars — Frank  had  'em. 

Every  one  on  the  steamer  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  little  stranger.  The 
children  at  first  felt  some  awe  of  him, 
but  finding  him  always  so  sweet  and 
gentle,  they  soon  began  to  talk  to  him 
freely,  begging  him  to  join  in  their 
plays.  Arthur  was  not  strong  enough 
to  play  very  much,  liking  best  to  sit  in 
his  steamer  chair,  or  lie  in  his  hammock 
having  Mary  Temple,  a  little  girl  of 
whom  he  had  grown  very  fond,  sit  and 
talk  to  him. 


28 


She  told  him  about  her  home  in  Eng- 
land, and  said  she  was  going  to  see  her 
father  in  Australia.  She  told  Arthur 
her  mother  had  died  many  years  before 
when  she  was  a  little  baby. 

"Your  mother  is  dead,  and  your 
father  too,  poor  Charley!"  Mary  looked 
pityingly  at  her  young  friend.  She  had 
heard  his  story  discussed  by  the  people 
on  the  steamer. 

"Yes,  Mary,"  answered  the  boy  re- 
luctantly. "My  father  and  mother  are 
dead.  I  was  taken  by  a  cruel  circus 
man," — repeating  the  statement  he  al- 
ways made. 

This  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  a  formula 
with  him.  Mrs.  Henderson  was  stand- 
ing near,  and  hoped  he  would  speak 
more  fully  while  talking  to  Mary,  but 
on  looking  at  him  and  seeing  the  far- 
away expression  that  always  shadowed 
his  face  at  the  slightest  mention  of  his 
former  life,  she  hastened  to  interrupt 
their  conversation. 

Several  people  on  the  steamer  offered 
to  provide  for  the  boy,  who  had  made 
his  appearance  so  mysteriously  among 
them.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henderson 
announced  their  intention  of  adopting 
the  little  waif  as  their  son. 

They    wished    very   much    to   know 


29 


something  more  about  him,  and  won- 
dered that  he  said  so  little  of  his  life 
before  his  appearance  on  the  steamer. 
Of  his  parents,  excepting  to  say  they 
were  dead,  he  never  spoke  at  all.  At  the 
slightest  mention  of  them,  the  same 
puzzled  expression  would  come  into  his 
face  that  they  had  noticed  from  the 
first. 

He  shrank  pitifully  from  speaking  of 
the  time  he  was  with  those  cruel  men, 
but  that  he  had  not  forgotten  was  quite 
certain,  for  many  times  he  would  wake 
screaming  from  his  sleep.  He  would 
cling  to  Hannah,  who  slept  near  him, 
and  entreat  her  not  to  let  them  take  him 
away. 

The  doctor  thought  that  with  the  ten- 
der care  he  would  now  receive,  this 
would  gradually  pass  away.  He  said 
that  he  had  been  watching  him  closely, 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  his 
memory  was  impaired.  He  ventured 
to  say  that  he  knew  nothing  about  him- 
self beyond  the  mere  statement  he  made. 
He  thought  as  his  health  returned,  his 
memory  would  improve,  and  he  would 
be  able  to  give  a  satisfactory  account 
of  himself.  In  the  meantime,  he  ad- 
vised that  no  questions  should  be  asked 
him  on  the  subject. 

30 


The  long  voyage  came  to  an  end,  and 
Arthur  was  sorry  to  say  good-bye  to  the 
many  friends  he  had  made  on  the  steam- 
er. It  was  quite  a  little  levee  he  held  on 
deck,  all  coming  to  see  the  interesting 
invalid  boy.  His  delicate,  sensitive  face 
showed  much  feeling,  as  they  expressed 
loving  hopes  for  his  happy  future. 

In  the  care  of  his  kind  guardians, 
Arthur  left  the  steamer.  He  seemed 
very  tired,  and  leaned  back  wearily.  He 
put  a  hand  in  Mrs.  Henderson's  and  one 
in  her  husband's,  saying  in  a  weak  voice : 

"I  will  always  have  you,  won't  I, 
dear  Auntie  and  Uncle'?"  They  had 
taught  him  to  call  them  so. 

The  Henderson  home  was  a  few  miles 
out  in  the  country,  not  far  from  the  city 
of  Melbourne.  It  was  a  very  beautiful 
place,  almost  palatial  in  its  appoint- 
ments. They  drove  up  the  long  avenue, 
leading  to  the  house.  Gazing  out  upon 
the  magnificent  grounds,  Arthur  said : 

"Is  this  the  place  you  told  me  about, 
Auntie'?" 

"Yes,  dear.  Is  it  not  beautiful4?" 
She  spoke  a  little  eagerly,  for  she  dearly 
loved  her  home.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
this  child,  brought  up,  as  she  supposed, 
in  poverty,  would  be  most  happy  at  the 
thought  of  having  such  a  home  as  this. 


31 


She  was  a  little  ^disappointed  when  he 
answered : 

"It's  very  nice,"  but  without  a  tinge 
of  enthusiasm,  and  rather  a  touch  of  sad- 
ness in  his  voice.  As  he  looked  at  her, 
there  was  in  his  eyes  that  far-away,  pa- 
thetic expression  that  she  could  not  en- 
dure to  see  there. 


CHAPTER   V 

Mr.  Eldridge,  Arthur's  father,  ar- 
rived in  San  Francisco  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  found  that  the  police 
were  doing  all  in  their  power  to  trace 
the  lost  boy.  Everything  that  love  and 
money  could  do  was  done  to  find  him. 
But  not  the  faintest  hope  was  brought  to 
the  bereaved  family.  The  poor  mother, 
it  seemed,  would  surely  sink  under  her 
heavy  grief.  The  father,  though  stronger, 
turned  from  a  happy,  genial  man,  to  one 
unutterably  sad. 

The  health  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  became  so 
alarming  that  the  doctor  declared  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  be  removed  from  the 
scene  of  her  sorrow.  He  advised  taking 
a  long  sea  voyage.  For  a  time  the  poor 
mother  utterly  refused  to  go,  saying  she 
could  not  relinquish  the  hope  that  her 
darling  would  be  found  here  where  she 

32 


had  seen  him  last.  How  could  she  go, 
she  asked,  when  perhaps  tomorrow,  to- 
day, an  hour,  might  bring  news  of  him'? 
Her  husband  begged  her  to  remember 
that  they  could  be  reached  by  wireless  at 
any  time  on  the  steamer;  that  every  day 
spent  here  was  endangering  her  life;  that 
in  refusing  to  make  an  effort  for  the 
restoration  of  her  health,  she  was  for- 
getting him  and  her  remaining  children. 

A  reluctant  consent  was  finally  given, 
and  it  was  decided  to  take  a  trip  to 
Australia.  Arrangements  were  soon 
made,  and  they  started  on  their  journey. 
Lillian  and  Emma  were  left  with  rela- 
tives. 

The  little  boy  now  in  Australia,  and 
whom  they  called  "Charley,"  seemed 
somewhat  stronger  since  their  arrival. 

A  few  weeks  later  came  the  happy 
Christmas-time.  Perhaps  you  know  that 
when  we  are  having  our  winter  weather, 
it  is  summer  in  Australia.  Would  it 
not  seem  strange  indeecj  for  our  Christ- 
mas Day  to  be  uncomfortably  hot*?  The 
children  in  Australia  know  nothing  else. 
It  must  indeed  seem  very  odd  when  they 
read  about  our  St.  Nick,  and  see  him  in 
his  pictures  all  wrapped  up  in  furs.  Per- 
haps they  have  a  Santa  Claus  appropri- 
ate to  their  climate.  Probably  he  would 


33 


wear  a  Panama  hat  and  a  linen  suit. 
But  even  so,  just  think  how  our  jolly 
old  Santa  would  groan  and  perspire 
under  his  load  of  good  things,  for  surely 
they  never  could  have  the  heart  to  make 
him  thin. 

Arthur  was  awake  rather  early  on 
Christmas  morning,  and  lay  listening  to 
the  twittering  of  the  birds  outside  of 
his  window.  Mrs.  Henderson  came 
softly  to  his  bedside: 

"Are  you  awake,  dear?  I  will  call 
Hannah,"  for  she  still  attended  Arthur. 
"You  must  hurry  now  and  get  dressed. 
It  is  Christmas  morning,  you  know, 
dear." 

After  breakfast  they  took  Arthur  to  a 
large  room,  the  windows  of  which  were 
closely  draped,  so  as  to  exclude  all  day- 
light. At  one  end  was  a  brilliantly 
lighted  Christmas-tree,  one  dazzling  mass 
of  light  and  color.  Hovering  over  the 
tree  were  pure  white  doves.  They  hung 
there  with  outspread  wings,  some  high, 
some  low,  some  touching  its  glistening 
branches,  but  so  cunningly  suspended, 
and  looking  so  much  alive,  poised  there 
in  the  air,  that  Arthur  and  the  children 
were  for  the  moment  deceived. 

Gathered  around  the  tree  was  a  party 
of  little  folk,  both  boys  and  girls.  They 

34 


were  the  children  of  poor  people.  It  was 
the  custom  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henderson 
to  gather  together  a  number  of  these 
children  every  year,  and  to  make  for 
them  a  happy  Christmas-time.  There 
was  always  a  tree,  but  never  before  had 
they  seen  such  a  beautiful  one  as  this. 

As  they  entered  the  room,  the  tones 
of  a  piano  were  heard,  and  children's 
voices  burst  into  a  glad  Christmas  carol. 
When  the  song  was  finished,  Arthur 
clapped  his  hands,  showing  more  enthu- 
siasm than  was  usual  with  him. 

Gifts  were  distributed  to  the  young 
guests,  until  their  arms  were  fairly 
loaded  with  them.  Candy  and  other 
sweetmeats  were  abundantly  provided. 

Once  more  the  children  gathered  about 
the  tree,  and  another  carol  was  sung. 
At  a  whispered  word  from  Mrs.  Hen- 
derson, each  child  came  forward  and 
timidly  shook  hands  with  Arthur.  He 
smiled,  and  wished  them  a  very  merry 
Christmas. 

After  the  children  had  gone,  Mr. 
Henderson  turned  to  Arthur:  "Now 
we  will  give  our  own  boy  his  gifts." 

Package  after  package  was  presented 
to  him:  a  railroad  train  that  went  by 
steam;  wagons,  boats,  horses,  knives, 
paint-boxes,  picture  games,  books;  in 


35 


f 


fact  everything  that  could  be  thought  of 
to  please  a  boy's  heart  was  there. 

After  he  had  examined  his  toys,  they 
told  him  that  Santa  Claus  had  left  him 
something  outside  that  they  thought  he 
would  like  best  of  all.  Lifting  the  cur- 
tains he  saw  standing  on  the  graveled 
walk,  the  sweetest  little  turnout  that 
ever  was  seen — a  diminutive  low  car- 
riage, drawn  by  two  of  the  prettiest  little 
ponies  in  all  the  world.  Arthur  clapped 
his  hands.  Nothing  had  seemed  to 
arouse  him  like  this. 

They  told  him  that  he  was  to  have  a 
pony  to  ride  as  soon  as  he  was  strong 
enough.  He  seemed  so  greatly  pleased 
at  this  that  it  was  not  many  days  before 
it  was  sent  for,  his  kind  friends  thinking 
it  would  please  him  to  pet  and  make 
friends  with  the  little  animal. 

In  selecting  the  pony,  Mr.  Henderson 
had  chosen  a  black  one.  This  was  the 
very  color  of  the  one  that  had  been 
Arthur's  in  his  home  in  California.  As 
the  groom  led  forward  the  pony,  the  boy 
acted  very  strangely.  There  came  into 
his  eyes  an  eagerness,  the  old  far-away 
expression,  so  wistful,  and  this  time 
more  intense  that  it  ever  had  been. 

He  went  toward  the  pony,  gazing 
fixedly  at  it.  Before  taking  many  steps 


36 


he  stopped,  pressing  his  hands  to  his 
head,  crying  aloud:  "Oh,  what  is  it? 
I  can't  remember.  Help  me,  Auntie!" 
throwing  himself  into  her  outstretched 
arms. 

They  were  greatly  alarmed.  Mr. 
Henderson  motioned  the  groom  to  take 
the  pony  away. 

"No,  no!  "  cried  the  child.  "Do  let 
me  have  him.  I'm  better  now.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  Auntie  and  Uncle,  but 
sometimes — it  seems  as  if  such  strange 
things  happen  to  me — a  long,  long 
time  ago — I  almost  remember  them. 
I  thought  —  the  —  pony  —  used — to  be 
mine  —  in  some  other  place.  Yes, 
Auntie,  his  name — was — was — Prince." 

The  boy  stood  clasping  his  hands, 
with  eyes  that  seemed  to  see  nothing 
about  him: 

"I  wonder  who — Emma  is,  Auntie?" 
he  asked  after  a  few  moments.  "I 
think  I  know  Emma.  Do — you — think 
— she  was  my  sister?" 

"Oh,  I  do  not  know,  dear,"  answered 
Mrs.  Henderson,  greatly  distressed. 
"Do  try  not  to  think  any  more  just  now. 
Come  into  the  house  and  rest."  Arthur 
patted  the  pony,  and  went  in  obediently. 

The  physician  was  summoned  at  once, 
but  before  his  arrival  Arthur  had  sunk 


37 


into  a  deep  sleep.  On  being  informed 
of  what  had  occurred,  he  said  that  he 
thought,  instead  of  being  alarmed,  they 
might  feel  satisfaction  in  this  effort  of 
his  memory  to  assert  itself.  He  con- 
sidered it  a  certain  indication  of  return- 
ing health.  He  hoped  that  within  a 
short  time  he  would  be  able  to  recall  his 
entire  past  life.  On  no  account  must 
he  be  disturbed,  but  allowed  to  sleep  as 
long  as  he  would. 

Arthur  slept  eight  hours,  and  when 
he  awoke  he  seemed  much  brighter,  his 
eyes  were  clearer,  and  his  skin  of  a  more 
natural  color. 

"Do  you  know,  Auntie,  there  was 
such  a  pretty  lady  in  my  dreams  just 
now.  Don't  you  think — perhaps — she 
was — my  mama4?  She  put  out  her  arms 
to  me,  and  I  said,  'Mama!'  but  then  I 
woke  up,"  and  he  sighed. 

Mrs.  Henderson  talked  to  him  of 
other  things.  Gradually  the  memories 
seemed  to  fade  away.  The  pony  proved 
a  great  delight  to  Arthur,  and  every  day 
he  fed  and  petted  him;  he  called  him 
"Prince." 

My  young  readers,  I  would  like  to 
take  you  with  me  on  a  trip  to  the  big 
Australian  steamer  that  is  away  out  on 
the  deep  ocean.  How  are  we  to  reach 

38 


this  good  ship  Alger,  for  it  is  the  very 
one  that  brought  Arthur  to  his  new 
home,  a  few  months  before.  We  are 
certainly  not  rich  enough  to  charter  a 
steamer,  and  there  is  none  going  out 
just  now  that  could  by  any  possibility 
meet  her.  There  is  no  bridge.  I  will 
tell  you  what  we  will  do.  We  will  sail 
"On  the  wings  of  imagination !  "  Then 
we  would  see  a  lady  sitting  on  the  deck, 
almost  in  the  very  spot,  for  it  was  a 
sheltered  one,  where  Arthur  had  been 
accustomed  to  sit  nearly  every  day, — a 
pale,  sad-looking  lady;  when  she  gazes 
far  away  over  the  waters,  there  is  an 
expression  in  her  eyes  which  reminds  one 
of  the  little  invalid  boy.  This  resem- 
blance must  have  been  very  striking  just 
then,  for,  as  she  took  a  shawl  from  the 
stewardess,  she  was  surprised  to  see  her 
start  back,  as  if  she  had  received  a  shock. 

"Oh,  ma'am!  You  must  excuse  me. 
You  do  look  so  like  the  little  boy!  " 

"What  little  boy?  "  Mrs.  Eldridge 
was  full  of  interest  at  once.  The  stew- 
ardess told  her  all  she  knew  of  the  boy 
that  had  been  found  on  this  very  steamer 
a  few  months  before.  Mrs.  Eldridge 
grew  so  excited  that  she  scarcely  could 
speak,  while  the  stewardess  hurried 
away  for  the  husband. 


39 


She  was  surprised 
to  see  her  start  back, 

as  if  she  had 
received  a  shock. 


Mr.  Eldridge  listened  eagerly  to  the 
story,  but  begged  his  wife  to  moderate 
her  hopes  until  all  possible  inquiries 
could  be  made.  He  at  once  went  for 
the  captain,  bringing  him  to  his  wife's 
stateroom,  where  she  had  retired,  almost 
overcome  with  emotion. 

He  corroborated  in  every  particular 
the  story  told  by  the  stewardess,  but 
said  he  feared  there  could  be  no  hope 
that  the  boy  was  their  lost  son.  The 
child  knew  perfectly  well  who  he  was; 
had  said  from  the  first  that  his  name  was 
"Charley  Maylard,"  that  his  father  and 
mother  were  dead. 

There  was  indeed  not  much  in  this 
story  to  bring  hope  to  the  sorrowing 
parents.  Mr.  Eldridge  gently  explained 
this  to  his  wife,  but  she  would  answer: 
"I  cannot  help  hoping.  Something  tells 
me  I  may." 

The  steamer  arrived  safely  at  her  des- 
tination. The  last  weeks  had  seemed 
almost  intolerable  to  the  parents.  As 
soon  as  they  could  land,  with  feverish 
eagerness  Mrs.  Eldridge  begged  her  hus- 
band not  to  lose  a  moment  in  his  search 
for  the  boy  of  whom  they  had  heard  on 
the  steamer. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Henderson.  Mr.  Eldridge  ascer- 


41 


tained  that  they  still  had  the  boy  under 
their  care. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  they  arrived  at  the  Hen- 
derson's residence.  As  they  drove  up 
the  long  avenue,  leading  to  the  house, 
Mrs.  Eldridge  looked  about  her,  saying 
hopefully,  "Our  Arthur  may  have  been 
playing  under  these  very  trees  this  morn- 
ing." 

They  alighted  and  were  admitted  al- 
most immediately.  Mr.  Eldridge  sent 
in  his  card,  begging  an  interview  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henderson  on  business 
concerning  their  adopted  son. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait,  and  were 
cordially  received.  Mr.  Eldridge  at 
once  entered  upon  the  subject  of  their 
errand.  He  spoke  of  their  loss,  and  told 
how  they  had  undertaken  this  trip  to 
Australia  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife's 
health.  He  said  they  had  come  over 
on  the  ship  Alger,  and  had  heard  the 
strange  story  of  the  boy.  Here  his  wife 
could  no  longer  restrain  herself,  crying 
eagerly : 

"Oh,  let  us  see  him!  Please,  please 
don't  wait!  My  heart  is  breaking!" 
The  tears  streamed  down  the  poor 
mother's  face.  Mrs.  Henderson,  too, 
was  crying. 

42 


"You  shall  see  him,  my  dear,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Henderson.  "He  is  out 
driving  now,  but  will  not  be  gone  long. 
You  shall  see  him.  If  he  proves  to  be 
your  lost  one,  as  dear  as  he  is  to  us,  and 
he  seems  like  our  very  own,  we  will 
gladly  restore  him  to  you." 

While  they  awaited  Arthur's  coming, 
Mr.  Henderson  told  them  every  par- 
ticular as  to  the  finding  of  the  boy.  He 
explained  his  present  condition,  saying 
that  they  believed  his  health  was  im- 
proving, but  that,  as  yet,  he  certainly 
had  not  entirely  recovered  his  memory. 
They  felt  fully  convinced  that  the  ac- 
count he  gave  of  himself  was  a  true  one. 
They  told  how  this  belief  had  been  con- 
firmed by  his  having  had  on,  when  found, 
a  little  circus  jacket.  Mrs.  Henderson 
proposed  that  they  should  examine  the 
clothing  worn  by  him  at  the  time  of  his 
coming.  Bancroft  Library 

The  package  was  sent  for.  The  un- 
derclothing was  of  such  good  quality 
that  it  had  always  been  a  source  of  sur- 
prise to  Mrs.  Henderson,  believing  as 
she  did  that  the  boy  came  of  very  poor 
people.  Mrs.  Eldridge  took  them  in  her 
hands,  examining  them  tenderly,  but 
shook  her  head:  "I  do  not  know.  I 
cannot  say  that  these  were  Arthur's." 


43 


Mrs.  Henderson  unfolded  the  small 
spangled  jacket.  At  sight  of  this,  the 
mother  seized  it  quickly. 

"Oh,  I  believe  this  was  Arthur's!  I 
remember  it  now,  although  I  have  never 
thought  of  it  since  his  disappearance." 

As  well  as  she  could,  in  her  great  ex- 
citement, she  explained  how  Lillian  had 
made  her  brother  a  circus  jacket  and  cap. 
The  cap  was  not  there,  but  she  believed 
this  was  the  jacket. 

Mrs.  Henderson  heard  the  sound  of 
wheels;  stepping  to  the  window :  "The 
child  is  here,"  she  said.  "Will  you  look 
at  him  from  the  window^  " 

Mr.  Eldridge  passed  his  arm  about  his 
wife,  gently  drawing  her  forward.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Henderson  stood,  scarcely 
breathing.  They  fully  realized  the 
grief  it  would  be  to  them  if  the  boy 
should  be  claimed.  Yet  these  generous 
souls  prayed  that  it  might  be  so. 

The  parents,  as  they  stood  looking  out 
of  the  window,  saw  a  little  low  carriage 
drawn  by  two  white  ponies.  A  frail- 
looking  little  boy  had  just  alighted.  He 
wore  long  yellow  curls  hanging  on  his 
shoulders.  His  hair  was  banged  in 
front,  English  fashion.  He  wore  a  dark, 
wine-colored  suit,  with  deep  collar  and 
cuffs  of  lace,  a  Scotch  cap  on  his  head. 


44 


His  appearance  was  altogether  of  a 
much  younger  child  than  Arthur.  A 
picture  of  him  as  she  had  seen  him  last 
flashed  across  the  mother  —  a  strong, 
active  boy,  dressed  in  boyish  fashion: 
plain  cloth  suit,  narrow  linen  collar, 
loose  tie,  and  stout  buttoned  boots,  his 
hair  cut  close  to  his  head,  for  he  hated 
the  sign  of  a  curl. 

The  mother  sighed  deeply,  and  was 
about  to  exclaim  that  this  could  not  be 
Arthur,  when  the  boy  glanced  up  at  the 
window.  Seeing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hen- 
derson, he  lifted  his  cap  and  smiled. 
Then  indeed  the  parents  knew  their 
child! 

Mrs.  Eldridge  turned  to  her  husband, 
crying:  "It  is  Arthur!  It  is  Arthur!  " 

The  father,  for  the  first  time  in  this 
dreadful  experience,  broke  completely 
down.  Heavy  sobs  choked  him.  "Yes. 
Oh,  thank  God !  It  is  our  son !  " 

The  doctor  was  sent  for.  Any  delay 
was  of  course  torture  to  the  bereaved 
parents,  but  they  fully  realized  that 
great  precaution  must  be  taken  for  one 
in  his  condition. 

On  the  doctor's  arrival,  and  the  new 
facts  laid  before  him,  he  said  that  un- 
doubtedly the  boy's  memory,  instead  of 
being  partially  clouded,  was  wholly  so. 


45 


He  had  suspected  something  of  this,  al- 
most from  the  first  time  he  had  seen  him, 
but  had  hesitated  to  say  so,  as  the  boy 
was  always  so  positive  in  his  account  of 
himself.  His  health  had  very  much 
improved,  and  possibly,  the  doctor 
thought,  he  might  entirely  recover  his 
memory  at  sight  of  his  parents.  At  all 
events,  in  his  opinion,  there  would  be 
little  risk  in  trying  this,  and  at  once. 
He  proposed  that  Mrs.  Henderson 
should  prepare  him  somewhat  by  telling 
him  the  story  of  his  own  life. 

Arthur  was  sent  for.  The  parents 
were  concealed  by  some  draperies,  but 
were  near  enough  to  hear  all  that  passed. 

On  entering  the  room  Arthur  found 
Mrs.  Henderson  alone.  She  drew  him 
to  her,  passing  her  arms  lovingly  about 
him. 

"Well,  dear,  have  you  had  a  pleasant 
ride  this  morning*?  " 

Arthur  was  enthusiastic,  as  he  told 
her  that  he  was  sure  he  had  the  pretti- 
est ponies  in  all  the  world.  He  seemed 
a  little  tired,  leaning  his  head  affection- 
ately against  her.  She  passed  her  hand 
caressingly  over  his  head.  As  she 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  there 
was  sorrow  in  her  heart,  tears  in  her  eyes. 
But  at  once  she  took  herself  to  task  for 


46 


what  she  deemed  her  selfishness.  She 
thought  of  all  the  parents  had  suffered, 
and  of  their  present  happiness,  and  her 
heart  was  filled  with  gladness  and  grati- 
tude that  the  child  had  been  restored 
through  her  husband  and  herself. 

Behind  the  curtains,  the  father  re- 
strained the  mother,  fearing  that  in  her 
eagerness  she  would  be  unable  to  wait 
to  clasp  her  boy  in  her  arms. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  story,  dear,"  be- 
gan Mrs.  Henderson.  "Many  miles 
away  from  here,  near  a  city  called — 
San  Francisco—  Here  she  paused, 

hoping  he  would  recognize  the  name. 
He  lifted  his  head,  looked  at  her  with 
something  of  the  old  puzzled  expres- 
sion: 

"Auntie,  where' ve  I  heard  that 
name?"  I  don't  think  I'll  like  that 
story,  Auntie." 

He  looked  up  in  her  face  appealingly, 
whispering,  "I  think  that's  where  the 
bad  circus  man  kept  me." 

"Never  mind  that,  dear.  You  are  not 
afraid,  now  that  you  have  us  to  take 
care  of  you.  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
a  little  boy  who  lived  there.  One  day 
his  mother  and  sisters  went  to  the  city, 
leaving  him  in  charge  of  his  old  nurse. 
After  awhile  she  missed  him,  and  — 


47 


A  lovely  lady 
coming  toward  him 

with 
outstretched  aims 


Ar — thur—  "  speaking  the  name  slow- 
ly and  distinctly.  The  boy  jumped  to 
his  feet,  crying  excitedly: 

"Oh,  wait,  Auntie!  Let  me  think! 
Did  you  say  his  name  was — Arthur4? 
Wait,  Auntie, — Arthur — Arthur — Ar- 
thur— El — dridge.  Oh,  Auntie,  who 
was  Arthur  Eldridge?  " 

Mrs.  Henderson  saw  the  curtains 
tremble,  and  knew  that  not  long  could 
the  parents  restrain  themselves. 

"Try  to  think,  dear.  Did  you  ever 
know  Arthur  Eldridge?  And  did  he 
have  two  sisters,  named- 
Arthur  broke  in  with,  "Emma  and 
Lillian !  Wait,  Auntie.  I'll  think  some 
more  in  a  minute." 

She  gently  turned  him  around,  that  he 
might  see  what  she  saw — a  lovely  lady 
coming  toward  him  with  outstretched 
arms,  and  eyes  looking  unutterable  love 
and  longing. 

Arthur  gazed  a  moment,  shrinking  a 
little,  the  puzzled  expression  coming 
into  his  face.  Another  moment,  and  it 
was  gone!  His  face  lit  up,  his  mother 
knew  she  was  recognized. 

He  ran  to  her,  crying:  "Mama! 
Mama!  Where  have  you  been  all  this 
time?  " 

As  Mrs.  Henderson  slipped  quietly 


49 


away,  she  heard  the  child  exclaim: 
"Papa,  why  didn't  you  come  and  take 
me  away  from  that  bad  man^  " 

She  knew  he  had  found  both  father 
and  mother. 


[THE  END.] 


